


'Til I Tear the Walls, 'Til I Save Your Heart

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Series: Various Storms and Saints [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, Demons, Fae & Fairies, Fae Lilia, Fae Victor, Halloween, M/M, Magic, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Samhain, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: O I forbid you, masters a',That wear gowd on your hair,To come or gae by Katsuki hall,For young Tam Lin is there.A chance encounter with a mysterious, beautiful man gives Katsuki Yuuri far more than he bargained for. There's only one way for them to find salvation---an act of love and bravery on Samhain.If Yuuri doesn't succeed, then he and his beloved are doomed.(A Yuri! On IceBallad of Tam Lin AU.)





	1. Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jawbone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jawbone/gifts), [feelslikefire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelslikefire/gifts), [spookyfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/gifts).



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The young lord rides for miles, hopelessly lost and desperately searching. The weather is unseasonably cool and foggy as Samhain approaches, and he fears he may not make it to safe shelter before the light breaks anew.

A few ice-cold droplets moisten the heavy wool of his cloak, and he mutters an oath under his breath as he urges his steed onward. Getting caught in the rain when the weather is already so difficult to traverse is less than ideal, so he redoubles his efforts to find an inn or even an old cabin. 

The fields before him leading into a wooded glen beckon, their verdant waves rolling as far as one can see in the daytime. There is a patch of wild, red roses—dozens if not scores—to his right, distracting him as they could not possibly be in bloom so late in the year. So curious is he that when he leans to further examine them (as he cannot tell their true color in so dark a night—scarlet or crimson, he wonders), his saddle slips and he tumbles sideways off his horse.

Bracing for impact, he closes his eyes. Surely he will break a hip or arm at the speed at which he rode, but instead an embrace catches him two feet off the ground. His eyes—the color of the sea when it is calm—meet a pair that are a preternatural, glowing green like polished jade. 

He is in the arms of a woman with long, dark hair in sleek lines around her face. She is clothed seemingly in air and darkness, a strange silken texture to her unnatural vestments covered in beadwork that would look like diamonds if they didn’t emit a light much more akin to the stars.

“Thank you, my lady,” he says with a gracious smile. His horse, who realized he fell, has stopped two hundred feet up the road. He whistles, calling her back. “Thank you so much. You undoubtedly saved me.”

The woman smiles, stroking her bottom lip with a long, pointed nail colored with a rainbow sheen like an oil slick. It matches the pigment painted over her lips and around her eyes. 

He never reunites with his horse. 

_——-_

There is a boy of 20---barely a man, really---who lives on a large stretch of countless acres of land. If he explored a different area every day for his whole life, he would never know all of it as intimately as is his desire. His home is a large and tasteful manor house almost like a castle with a stone facade and dark wood walls lining the rooms, so numerous he and his older sister could play Hide and Seek for an entire day without the seeker finding the person in hiding. 

“Yuuri,” his tutor calls with exasperation. “Katsuki Yuuri, you better not have—“

Yuuri ducks behind a large, polished mahogany desk in his father's study. 

His tutor comes into the room, her long brown hair held back from her face with a ribbon. Glasses perch on the tip of her nose, and her heavy clothing, yards and yards of wool and petticoats drag across the ground as she enters. “Yuuri!” she tries.

Yuuri bites his lip and pushes his glasses higher on his face. He doesn’t dare move even a finger.

The tutor’s face overtakes his vision, upside-down as she lies over the desk. “Found you,” she teases.

“Minako-sensei!” Yuuri whines without care for how childish he sounds. He scrambles to get away, but Minako is light on her feet, spinning off the desk into a pirouette and wrapping him in her arms. 

Yuuri is trapped.

“Yuuri,” she says into his ear. “You need to finish your lessons, or your mother will be unhappy.”

“But I don’t like them—“ he begins. 

“But you need them,” Minako teases. “You’re to be the head of the house some day. You have to be well-read and educated, it’s part of the job.”

“Can’t Mari be the head? She’s the eldest.” Yuuri knows the answer, but he has to try anyways.

“Mari, your sister who gave up her claim?” Minako asks, turning so they face each other. “Mari who moved back to Japan because she cares about business and not the other cogs in the machine of the Katsuki Household? That Mari?”

Yuuri’s shoulders sag. “Minako-sensei.”

“I know,” she says with surprising gentleness. She brushes the untamed hair off his face, its texture and color like ebony silk. “I know you don’t care for this, but we don’t have a choice. Things are what they are.”

Yuuri sighs, fiddling with the lapels of his twilight-colored jacket. “Is it Russian today?” he asks, the words a sign of open defeat.

“Russian,” Minako begins. “And dance.”

Yuuri likes dance, at least. Even in childhood, he outshone all others as he let music sweep him across a marble floor, floating through the crowd. “Can we do dance first?”

“You should save the best for last,” Minako chides. She strokes his hair again and smiles, her eyes alight with mischief. 

Yuuri sighs. “Alright.”

“Good,” she says as she steers him back to the parlor. The Russian lessons take up the rest of the morning, Yuuri managing to finally perfect adjectival declensions as the nuances had previously confounded him. 

He dines with both Minako and his mother for lunch, as his father is at the capital having an audience with the royal family. They share a meal of _golubsty_ , one of his favorites. His mother giggles. “Your tastes strongly indicate you grew up here, Yuuri,” she teases.

Yuuri shrugs. “Katsudon’s still my favorite,” he points out.

“I know,” she replies with a fond smile. “Your sister in her last letter complained about the _natto_ that seems to follow her everywhere. It’s not just you.”

Yuuri bites back a snort. He hasn’t been to Japan in five years, and he still remembers the way the _natto_ smells. No wonder Mari complains in her correspondence. “Tell her I send my condolences.”

Minako laughs as well as his mother. Yuuri goes for another cabbage roll, but Minako’s look of disapproval sends him reaching for his drink instead. The _kompot_ is chilled and sweet this time of year, always quite refreshing, and Yuuri drinks his fill. He politely excuses himself with a bow to his mother as Minako escorts him to the ballroom, the polished black and white tiles and glimmering chandelier greeting him as she opens the lacquered double doors. 

She steers him into perfecting every possible beat and step of a lengthy waltz, and Yuuri is covered in perspiration upon completion of the task. How she can move and not break a sweat in such heavy gowns Yuuri will never know as he had to remove his jacket and unbutton his collar a quarter through. 

There is a long time before dinner. Yuuri typically retreats to his suite to read or to play with his beloved dog, Vicchan. He feels different today, though——restless in a way that is unusual. Stifled, he thinks. He’s in need of outside air. He sees, too late, that it began to pour while he and Minako perfected the dance, and he groans.

Yuuri climbs onto the much-beloved and overstuffed window seat lining the floor-to-ceiling glass on the south of his chambers. He slides one open almost all the way and sits on his knees, Vicchan’s head resting on his thigh while his tail wags, as he stares out at the lush green lands that comprise his home. It’s different in the land of his parents’ births—they were given a castle in a sea town by the Emperor, and they prevent its descent into a decrepit state by feeding rumors it’s a facade for ninjas. 

Yuuri considers reading to the soothing rhythms of the rain, but he has thousands of leather-bound and wonderful smelling books at his disposal and cares for maybe ten of them. They’re all well-loved and worn, the spines having been broken through the years upon years of his use. He keeps five in his room for such occasions, and he considers picking up one from the pile on his bedside table. 

Yuuri pets Vicchan as a soft knock echoes on his closed door. “It’s open,” he calls.

Minako steps into his room with a smile. “Yuuri, why are you locking yourself up like this?” She sits opposite him on the window seat, arranging her skirts to hang over the edge and give her room.

Not meeting her gaze, Yuuri continues to stare out across the fields. Though the sky is dark, he can make out their greenhouse. “I just don’t see the point.”

He sees her lips purse from the corner of his eye. “You’re the only son, and Mari—“

“Not that,” he says. He looks at her, Vicchan curling on his lap with a slow wagging tail. “I have to get married. Which means having kids.”

“Generally one follows the other, that is true,” Minako says though her tone is serious.

Yuuri pets his dog as he focuses on the reddish brown towns of his fur. “I want to marry for the right reasons, not because it is good for the family coffer.”

Minako reaches out and takes his hands. Her fingers are long and thin, elegant with perfectly shaped nails. “I know, Yuuri.”

“I can’t marry for love if I have to marry a wo—“ His voice drops. She’s one of two people he’s ever felt safe telling---his cousin is also privy to this knowledge. 

He doesn’t finish because it’s unnecessary.

Minako’s fingers massage Yuuri’s palms, soothing and easing the tension he carries. “I know, Yuuri. I agree with you it’s not fair, but you know—things can change. You may grow to love the girl in your own way.”

He sighs and looks back out the window, eyes stuck on a wooded glen off in the distance. It must be a trick of the light because for a moment he thinks he sees something glimmer behind the trees. “I just want to be happy.”

Minako changes the subject with her eyes lighting up. “You know, I remember something that may brighten your spirits. Your mother received word from the Chulanonts—your favorite cousin arrives soon for an extended stay.”

Phichit is not technically his cousin, not by blood, but his family is very close with Yuuri’s parents and so they were always called cousins. Yuuri hasn’t seen him in far too long, though they write when time permits. “Phichit is coming?” he says, melancholy forgotten.

Minako nods. “Yes, he is.”

Yuuri smiles. “When does he arrive?”

“A few days,” Minako replies. “No later than the end of the week.”

Vicchan smiles at Yuuri, sensing the change in his human’s mood. “I can’t wait!”

Minako’s eyes sparkle. “Good. Now come—it’s time for you to dress for supper.”

Vicchan jumps off Yuuri’s lap, and his valet comes to change him from his more casual daytime clothing into a proper dinner suit. He sighs a little as he selects his cufflinks, the good mood of his dear Phichit’s impending arrival giving sway to his earlier doldrums. 

If they were in their homeland, Yuuri thinks, things wouldn’t be so…stiff. Perhaps that is why Mari prefers it. The style of dress would be different, but the rigidity of the times and schedules wouldn’t be quite as severe. 

As he pulls at his collar, he laments this country’s fondness for neckties as well.

He sits with his mother as they have pre-dinner drinks, and they are then shown to supper. It’s four courses over an hour and a half, and his mother inquires about his lessons. They’re fine, he answers over soup. 

The table is far too expansive without his father and sister.

When the evening draws to a close, Yuuri kisses his mother on the cheek as she sees herself to bed and though he should follow, he undoes his tie and shirt collar before entering the library. The books on his nightstand are all fiction, long-beloved and well-worn novels he knows like old friends. Tonight he feels compelled to read something unfamiliar. 

A book with a silver spine and gilded pages catches his attention. He’s glanced over it in the past, but tonight it catches his full attention. It’s a collection of folklore specific to this piece of the world—fables about being tricked by water spirits into drowning, of making bargains with devils that you cannot possibly keep or reverse—it’s not his usual taste, but he picks it up and chooses a random page anyways.

_The bewitched young maiden allowed the perelesnyk closer, far too much so. She let him in, and it was the beginning of the slow downfall of her life—_

He closes the book, carrying it upstairs to his bedchamber. As he’s helped out of his formal attire into his bedclothes, he notes the waning daylight hours. There are lit candles by his bed, and he gets under the warm covers with the book, reading in the dim lighting. Vicchan dozes in a ball on the pillows next to him as he stays up far too late reading of wood nymphs and magical folk meeting humans. 

He falls asleep at some point far too late, clouds still filling the sky and hiding the moon and stars. 

_——-_

It rains the next day as well, contributing to Yuuri’s increasing cabin fever but then the third day is bright and clear, the sun shimmering down on the droplets clinging steadfast to the blades of grass surrounding Katsuki Hall. 

He has completed his lessons—more Russian, always more Russian, never ever will he be done with learning Russian—and he is at loose ends for the day. He goes to his room, and there curled up on his sheets is Viccan. Yuuri smiles at the sight of his alert, loving eyes. “Vicchan, come with me,” he says, and the poodle obeys. 

They walk down the back stairs together, quietly exiting the house through the kitchen’s servant door and out to the stables. He hides around the corner, holding Vicchan’s snout closed to muffle his barking until the stablehand walks out of sight. 

Yuuri gathers the tack for his favorite horse—a passionate, shining black mare with a silver stripe down her nose named Eros—and hoists himself astride her back with practiced ease. Vicchan runs alongside as best he can as they canter down a trail from the house to part of the property that is a shaded, wooded glen. 

He steers Eros to the trees---it is his usual spot when his mind fills itself with negativity and fear. He dismounts and ties her reins loosely to a low branch allowing her to graze while he sits nearby. Vicchan climbs into his lap to shower him with kisses. He laughs, hugging his dog close, and the daylight slowly begins to fade. 

After sitting for a half an hour, he stands and stretches. He feels better now, lighter and rejuvenated from his short escape, but he isn’t ready to return quite yet. He knows if he dithers too long his mother will worry and possibly send the staff to track him down. 

He’s always been a bit babied. 

Vicchan sniffs a stump before his ears perk. His head sharply turns and off he goes. “Vicchan!” Yuuri shouts. “Vicchan no!” 

He chases after his dog because he has no way to explain to his mother why Vicchan would have disappeared, and he keeps pace with the brown tail he sees bouncing fifteen feet ahead. Vicchan is incredibly quick when he wishes, and Yuuri runs at his top speed to try to keep up. 

They exit the trees into a large field full of blooming roses. They are fragrant, perfuming the air pleasantly like the candles his mother burns for late evening company, and they are a whole spectrum of red that Yuuri never knew could exist in nature. Some are almost dark pink, some the same shade as his blood, others a claret like an ermine cape worn by royalty. They stretch for yards upon yards, like a red tide in a cove during the heated month of July. 

He slows his pace coming to a gradual halt. He never knew this was here—he’s lived on this land his entire life, was born in his parents’ bedchamber, and he never knew this existed. It’s lovely, a beautiful sight he wishes he could capture. 

Vicchan has stopped as well. He sits in a patch of roses the shade of autumn apples, and Yuuri bends to gather him in his arms. “Vicchan,” he scolds. “Don’t do this again.”

Vicchan whines and kisses him like before, and he’s so sweet Yuuri’s fear and anger dissipates. He holds him close, letting his wet, cold nose nuzzle his jaw, and he sets him down, satisfied whatever inspired his need for the chase has passed. 

The curiosity returns to the forefront, and Yuuri looks at the vast ocean of flowers. In what appears to be the center, there lies a patch of a few that outshine the rest. They’re a bright crimson shimmering with a touch of blush as if they are enchanted. 

Roses are his mother’s favorite—she always keeps vases of them everywhere in their home when in season. She’s missed his father and sister so much the last few months...why not take her one as a token of his affection?

Yuuri bends at the waist, scrutinizing the flowers to choose the best and most flawless specimen. The one next to the center, he decides…it’s barely open so it’ll last if she puts it in water, and it has the most pearlescent sheen. He pulls out his knife and cuts the stem, careful to avoid its thorns. He tries to find a way to bring it home safely, finally remembering he has a hole on his lapel for a boutonniere. He slides the rose into place, and whistles. Vicchan prances over to him.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” a voice calls. 

Yuuri starts with a low yelp. His glasses land crooked on his nose, and he adjusts them back into place. He turns to face the person (where did they come from?) and he opens his mouth to reply when what he sees causes him to choke.

The man looks a little older than him—though not by much—with hair past his waist, its color a prism of silver, platinum, and pure white. His eyes are an inhuman shade of blue, a cross between the Ariake Sea at low tide during spring and a frozen lake in the depths of mid-winter. A blue crown sits upon his head, pieces of glimmering material fused together that resemble roses carved from ice. He is clothed in a metallic blue shirt that is half-transparent, one arm draped in a woven pattern of ribbons like a frozen spider’s web, the other half patterned in angled layers like the remiges on a hawk’s wings. His pants are gray like a misty, cold dawn, and there is a silver shimmer lining his eyes and dusted over his elegant, high cheekbones.

Yuuri has never felt more plain in his life. He’s also never been more bewitched, his heart beating faster and his eyes wide in utter awe of his beauty.

“The rose,” the man says to clarify. “That isn’t yours. You can’t just take it.”

Yuuri adjusts his glasses. “My family owns this land. I don’t—I don’t need permission to pluck a flower on my own property.”

The man raises an eyebrow with a slight quirk of a smile. His lips are slightly frosted like his cheeks, though a shade of pale peach instead of the pearl color highlighting his pale skin. “Is that so,” he replies, though he isn’t asking.

“Yes,” Yuuri replies. “I can’t commit a theft of my own property.”

The man becomes visibly amused, his eyes sparkling and smile growing wider. “I suppose,” he says. “Though, I would argue this isn’t _your_ land. It bears no owner, belonging to itself. Though, it is ruled—” He trails off, looking off towards the trees from whence Yuuri came. “Well, no matter. The point is, this isn’t _your_ land.”

“The name Katsuki Hall doesn’t agree,” Yuuri counters again. “As in, my name is Katsuki Yuuri.”

The man’s smile is slightly impish. He crosses the distance, standing in front of Yuuri. He’s in his personal space, only a few inches from him as he lifts his chin with his right hand. He scrutinizes Yuuri, who flushes at the attention while his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose, and after a few minutes, the velvety pad of his thumb caresses Yuuri’s bottom lip. “Your eyes are sweet,” he whispers.

Yuuri stares, swallowing once. He tries to step backwards, but his feet grow roots that burrow into the ground like an ancient tree. 

The man’s other hand tenderly strokes the hair on Yuuri’s forehead, and he loses himself in it, in the affection and longing in his blue eyes. He’s never been looked at like this, as if he is someone to be wanted, someone to be cherished and possessed. Though he realizes he shouldn’t, he likes it. He wants more. 

Yuuri sees now the man’s ears are pointed at the tips, bedecked in shimmering pale blue and clear gems. His nails are an iridescent white that darkens into the metallic blue of his clothing Yuuri notices as his hands cover Yuuri's cheeks to stroke his skin. 

“I wonder, do you taste as sweet as you look,” he muses, his smile gaining intensity. He’s dazzling, and Yuuri parts his lips in an unconscious invitation. The stranger takes it, pressing his mouth to Yuuri’s, and Yuuri’s eyes close as he falls swiftly and without warning, his hands clutching the stranger by the shoulders as he surges closer. 

The kiss deepens, Yuuri worrying he’s poor at it since he’s never been kissed before aside from the familial, warm touches of his mother’s lips to his forehead when he’d cry over bruised and scraped knees. This is Yuuri’s first real kiss, and it stirs a part of him deep inside he never knew was there. It lay dormant his whole life, and he finds a word for it—it’s passion, simple and primal, like a song he’s never heard but instantly recognizes regardless.

The man slides the gray jacket down Yuuri’s shoulders, and Yuuri has the sense to let him go in order for it to fall to the ground draped over a patch of wine-pigmented blooms. He begins to undo the laces on Yuuri’s shirt, like a slow teasing dance of his fingers as they ghost over his clavicle. His touch burns even through the linen, and Yuuri ignites.

His shirt is pulled over his head, arms rising to accommodate the task, and the man undoes the ribbons on his own—at least, until Yuuri assists, taking a moment to assess how it works. They untie them together and the shimmery, unearthly fabric pools on the ground beside Yuuri’s garments. He pulls Yuuri down with him so they at first kneel in the roses, then he pushes on Yuuri’s shoulders so he drifts onto his back.

As he lies in between Yuuri’s spread legs to kiss him deeper and with greater ardor, Yuuri’s hands tangle in the smooth strands of shining hair surrounding them like a closed off room. He plucks off Yuuri’s glasses to set them barely within arms reach. Yuuri’s right hand drifts from the stranger’s hair to his back, his nails digging into his skin as he grinds his hips down into Yuuri’s, sending jolts of pleasure through his core. 

Yuuri is not so naive that he doesn’t understand what’s happening—he’s surrendering his virtue to a strange man who looks like he’s woven of stardust and frost and while he should definitely end things, he won’t. He wants it, he realizes with a startling clarity, as the man tastes the sweat on his collarbone. He wants it more than anything, more than he wanted to find Vicchan, more than he desires to live his life as he pleases.

The man slides down his torso, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, lavishing attention on his nipples with his tongue and a minute scrape of his slightly-too-sharp teeth. Yuuri moans as he arches for more contact, more touching; and the man scratches his nails down Yuuri’s sides, leaving a matching set of screaming pink welts.

Yuuri realizes His cock is hard and aching for direct attention. His body is so hot, so, so hot like an inferno, and he can’t think of anything but chasing his own pleasure. “Please,” he says between kisses, a soft murmur like a prayer as he begs—for what specifically he isn’t quite sure, though he has an idea from a book he stealthily purchased in the city before he was of a proper age to read such fiery words.

It’s different from the quiet explorations he’s done alone, Yuuri can’t help but note as his partner divests himself of his own trousers then aides Yuuri with his. His innate bashfulness kicks in, and he draws his eyes away while his flushed skin darkens from a soft pink to full crimson. 

The man drinks him in like a prized vintage of heady wine as if he’s never seen anything so moving in his life. Yuuri steels his nerves and meets his gaze as best he can without the clarity of his glasses—he takes in the sight of the man’s skin like a polished piece of chalcedony; his lean but muscled chest and arms, the trim waist and narrow hips, and his long, elegant cock that’s hard and ready. Yuuri is struck with the realization he affects his partner just as strongly in turn.

He reaches up, running his hands through the long silver strands, and the man smiles. The man bends to kiss his wanting mouth once more, Yuuri groaning into the man’s parted lips as he licks sensuously over Yuuri’s palate. He gives in completely then, the stranger somehow sensing his surrender as he finally touches Yuuri. A delicate hand closes around his swollen cock where he is almost in pain from desire. Yuuri jerks, his hips arching up as the man strokes slow and light first, before redoubling his efforts. 

Yuuri wants to cry out but he won’t sever the connection of their mouths as the man’s hand brings Yuuri closer, right to the bare edge of freefall before the heights of pleasure. He stops just short of sending Yuuri to that beautiful ascension, and Yuuri almost complains when the man—out of nowhere—holds a bottle of a glimmering pearlescent oil in his hand. He opens the frosted glass and coats his fingers, allowing it to warm before he reaches down and presses a finger to Yuuri’s hole. 

The man greedily drinks in Yuuri’s response; the way Yuuri’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth goes slack as he sighs from the caresses before the man’s finger slides inside the tight ring of muscle. Yuuri makes a low noise in his throat as the man immediately finds a spot within him that strikes sparks across Yuuri’s vision in a flood of carnal pleasure, and his thighs begin to tremble. One finger becomes two then three, and Yuuri thinks he may die, that this edge he’s skirting may honestly shuffle him off this mortal coil. 

The man decides he’s ready, and after coating his flushed member in the oil he pushes, too slow for Yuuri to be frank, inside. He’s buried to his hilt, and Yuuri clutches his back, his thighs wrapping around his waist to pull him as far as he can go. “Alright, sweet one?” he asks. 

Yuuri nods. “Yes,” he says. “Please.”

His answer is a smile, though Yuuri can’t parse the meaning behind it. He moves then, sliding out of Yuuri until only the tip is sheathed within, and then drives back in, slow, hard, as Yuuri adjusts his body to meet him where he is. Yuuri’s eyes close, he bares his throat as the man’s teeth nip a line of red lovebites down Yuuri’s olive skin, and Yuuri can no longer remain quiet, his voice singing his enjoyment into the air. 

Yuuri bears down as best he can while the stranger fucks him at his steady pace. The intensity of the man’s caresses and his thrusts has Yuuri blinking back tears. It’s overwhelming for his first time, but he doesn’t ask to stop. He takes as much as he gives, and before he fully senses it, he comes in hot spurts on both of their stomachs. He’s embarrassed he didn’t last, but his partner smiles in response. “Ah dear one—“ he says as he slows his movements to kiss Yuuri again. “It’s alright. We’re far from finished.”

Yuuri blinks as the man pulls back. He brushes his silver hair out the way, and then pulls out, adjusting them so Yuuri is now on all fours with his back to him. He feels lips and a hot tongue slide down his spine, Yuuri gasping as he arches into the kisses. His short hair is grabbed and pulled, yanking his head back so his eyes look skyward. The stranger’s cock presses back into Yuuri’s hole, and he shouts as it begins anew, his cock hardening in a way that makes him sob in shock.

The man takes Yuuri’s body over and over and Yuuri loses the ability to keep track of his climaxes after the passing of an unmeasurable amount of time. He’s exhausted and should be sore, but all he feels is pleasure and all he understands are the feelings given to him by his partner’s cock, lips, and hands. The man always makes a point to come inside his hole, filling Yuuri with his seed upon every completion. Yuuri feels it spill down the backs of his thighs, smearing across his skin as he begins to, quite literally, overflow. 

During their uncountable rounds of sex, the time moves from afternoon to dusk to dark, and now Yuuri can tell by the mist covering their bodies that it is close to sunrise. They lie in each other’s embrace, worn from their exertions, and the stranger hums as he strokes Yuuri’s hair. It’s gentle and caring, and Yuuri shifts his head further into his hands like Vicchan demanding pets. 

“Tell me your name,” Yuuri whispers. 

The hands stop.

“Please,” Yuuri adds. He turns to look at him, his eyes meeting those mysteriously illuminated blue irises. “I have to at least know who you are.”

The demeanor in the man’s eyes shifts. “My name…” he drifts off. “I don’t know it anymore. Not my real one. It was taken from me long ago.”

Yuuri feels a pang in his heart. He strokes the hair off his partner’s face, uncovering the eye that had previously been obstructed. “I’m sorry. Why was it taken?”

“She took it,” he says. “It’s part of my price.”

“Price? For what?”

His partner stiffens. He makes a sound, soft enough that it takes Yuuri a few moments to realize he’s speaking in an unfamiliar tongue. His fingers touch Yuuri’s eyelids, and before he can ask Yuuri falls into a deep sleep—a warm blanket of darkness without any dreams.

When he awakens, he’s alone in the bed of roses with his clothing and glasses back on. He sits up with a dazed expression, shaking his head a few times as he attempts to clear it. Vicchan is nearby, barking his excitement. 

Was it all a dream? Did he imagine everything? Was it a simple fantasy and nothing more?

The rose he picked still rests in his buttonhole, he notes, but when he sets his hand on the ground something oddly-shaped and cold pokes his palm. Yuuri picks it up, holding it before his eyes.

It’s one of the man’s earrings, a shimmering blue crystal that Yuuri saw adorning his upper cartilage.

It was real he thinks as his heart skips a beat. He pockets the gem without a second thought, and he and Vicchan rejoin Eros. Yuuri rides her back to the house and waits for the workers to depart as he did the day before then stables the mare, brushing her down with soothing words of affection.

Yuuri tries to sneak back into the service entrance. He thinks he might have made it and breathes a sigh of premature relief. He’s ascended three of the back stairs when Minako appears at the top landing, her face full of nothing but blatant displeasure. “Katsuki Yuuri!” she shouts. “Where have you been? You’ve terrified your poor mother and caused the whole house to do nothing but fret all night!”

Yuuri grimaces and bites his bottom lip at the same time, his face contorting into a strange look as though he’s baring fangs. “I um…I just——“

Minako reaches him and grabs him by the ear. “Come,” she snaps. “You reek of rotting roses and moss. What did you do? Sleep on the ground like a vagabond?”

Yuuri thinks of lying with his mystery man. “Sort of.”

“Ugh,” she complains as she steers him into his suite. His valet shoots him a veiled look of concern. “Please draw a bath for him,” Minako says in a sharp voice.

Yuuri groans. “Minako-sensei,” he says in a cross between a whine and a grumble.

“I’ll strip you myself,” she bites back. “I did it when you were a toddler. Nothing I haven’t already seen a dozen times or more.”

Yuuri jerks back, his face turning scarlet. “N-no! That’s fine!” 

Minako smirks, adjusting her eyeglasses. “Good. I’ll have the chef make you a late breakfast. And I’ll also assure your mother——“ the last two words are heavily emphasized, and Yuuri cringes. “That her idiot son didn’t drop dead after all.”

Yuuri is beaten, thoroughly, and without any means to stage a comeback. He rubs his face with a hand. “I’ll take the bath. Then I’ll eat.”

Minako nods, a sharp jerk of her head as she exits. The water is drawn, steaming hot, and the valet excuses himself. Yuuri removes his clothing, holding his shirt to nose for a moment as he smells the fragrance of the roses alongside something similar to a cold snap embedded in the fabric. He doesn’t want to have it laundered. Maybe he can hide it from the staff until the scent fades.

He is about to step into the tub when his reflection catches his attention in the floor to ceiling mirror nearby. The marks, the bites and long, searing kisses that broke his blood vessels mar his skin like a map of his dalliance, and he touches them with reverence for a few minutes.

He ducks his head and sits in his bath. The water is outright cold when he finally gets out.

_—-_

Yuuri goes through the motions of his routine, but he can’t control his thoughts. His mind still lies in that field, his brain caught on the smell of roses, snow, and dew, as well as the feel of smooth, pale skin under his hands. 

He excuses himself before dinner citing fatigue, and he lies on his bed with Vicchan under one hand as he closes his eyes, losing himself in the sense memory of a mouth on his that burns a brand in his soul with every kiss.

He sits up and stretches, checking his clock. He has to go to dinner…he can’t skip like he did the previous night. 

He has to see him again, though. He has to. Somehow. Some way.

Yuuri dresses for dinner and sits with his mother like always. The fact that Phichit will be with them soon is a comfort—the table is just too empty without the other members of his family. Phichit will alleviate much of that issue, his bright spirit filling any room he enters.

“Yuuri,” his mother asks. “Are you alright today?”

Yuuri gives her a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Minako told me you seem a bit distracted,” she elaborates. “And I’m concerned after you disappeared last night. Did you find someplace safe to stay, at least?”

“Yes,” Yuuri lies, a little shocked at the ease with which the words fall from his tongue. “I’m sorry—I should have told you, but I needed to clear my head for an evening. I’m very sorry,” he finishes bowing to her with a great amount of respect.

His mother sighs. “I understand. Please, let me know next time. That’s all I ask.”

“I will,” he says as the plates are cleared. He takes a snifter of brandy to his room and sits on his window seat, eyes watching the part of the family land where the roses bloom. The sky is clear for once, the stars and half-moon illuminating the darkness. He watches the night for so long that the clock chimes midnight before he realizes how much time has passed. Vicchan sleeps soundly on his pillow as usual, and Yuuri realizes he should put on his bedclothes and retire.

It’s late enough he can do something horrendously impetuous and unwise without discovery.

He’s anxious, his palms sweating as he tiptoes down the back stairs and grabbing a thick cloak as he gathers Eros and rides. He finds the roses without Vicchan’s help, dismounting from his horse and standing in the middle of the field. He can tell which ones are the special ones as their shimmer defies nature, and they almost glow in the dark. He kneels and runs a finger over a bloom. 

“You can’t take them,” that voice calls.

Yuuri turns, unable to stop a sweet smile. “It’s you. It’s really you,” he breathes.

The man is exactly as Yuuri remembers—shimmering, perfect, too beautiful to be real. His eyes narrow as he tilts his head to one side. “You…why have you returned?”

Yuuri swallows. The words won’t come immediately—he needs a few minutes to organize them and to trick himself into believing he is brave. “You. I needed to see you.”

His eyes widen—luminescent in the dark. He takes a step back, his eyes turning towards a trail running next to the field. “You shouldn’t have come. You should go home—if you’re halfway intelligent, you’ll leave.”

Yuuri frowns. “So you don’t feel the same, then.” He inhales, though his chest hurts like he’s been shot through the heart.

“It’s not safe for you,” the man says. “You know not what you ask—just, please—please go. Go and don’t return.”

“But I don’t want to,“ Yuuri pleads. “I want to be with you.”

His face is openly tormented by guilt, like his soul bleeds as a direct consequence of turning Yuuri away. “Trust me, sweet one,” he says. “You should not come back to this place. You should forget me however you are able. You should go and not look back.”

Yuuri’s hands become fists. “I will not!” he shouts, his voice raw as it cuts through the silent air.

The man steps into Yuuri’s space, holding his hands. His eyes glimmer with shame. “You do not know the extent of what I’ve caused, what I’ve done—“ he says, trailing off. “You must go. You must forget this happened, and you must forsake me.”

Yuuri feels his eyes burn between the pain and the hot tears that fill them. “Last night was everything to me…and you’d cast me away so thoughtlessly?”

“It is because I car—“ he stops. “Just please…if I mean anything to you, you will go and not return.”

Yuuri shakes his head and without thinking about it, he rises on his toes and kisses the pale lips. There’s a noise from the man, somewhere between pain and longing, but he doesn’t push Yuuri back or flee. He deepens it, clutching Yuuri by the cloak close enough they feel each other’s heartbeat. 

He feels alive for the first time that day, Yuuri thinks as he winds his hands into his long, straight hair. Somehow he ends up falling—metaphorically and still moreso than he already has—but also in the literal sense as he lands on his back surrounded by roses as the man rests on top of him. They divest themselves of their garments and his partner touches, licks, sucks him into a consuming state of desperate need. 

Their bodies join as they did the night before, Yuuri losing himself in the sensation and the feeling causing his heart to burst, the emotions that make him believe he is not simply satisfying an urge. The kissing alternates between tender and hot, and Yuuri forgets everything else until the light breaks on the horizon, and both of them are spent. 

“Tell me something,” Yuuri asks as the sky shifts from indigo to gray and yellow. “Why did you lose your name?”

There is a moment of hesitation before he says, “It is the price I paid for my life.”

“From what?” Yuuri asks. He smooths the hair out of his lover’s eyes, the silver strands burnished like brass from the spectrum cast by the sunrise. 

His eyes turn away, oddly gray instead of blue. He presses a kiss to Yuuri’s eyelids, and once again the world goes dark. He awakens a second time fully clothed in the flower bed, though this time he is insulted, a deep frown sharpening the softness of his features. 

There is a note though—it says in a strange, iridescent ink, “Do not come again.”

Yuuri tears it apart. As he does, a freak storm—unnatural for both season and climate— hits, cold rain slicing through his cloak like daggers. Lighting cracks the firmament as he rides back to the stables, his head tucked down at a worthless attempt to keep his glasses clean.

He arrives, and the hands take Eros from him. “Early ride this morning, Master Yuuri?” one asks.

“I wanted to see the sunrise unobstructed,” Yuuri lies. He is a bit concerned how easily telling falsehoods comes now when before he surely would have stammered and blushed.

“Shame about the weather then,” the broodmare manager adds. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. He shivers, the chill of his wet vestments passing through to his very bones. He sneezes once as he heads to his room. He feels a bit sluggish, probably from the lack of sleep in a proper bed. He puts on his winter flannel night clothes and curls up under the velvet and down covers. His head pounds, pains timed with the flow of his blood. Vicchan snuggles close with a look of love and concern in his brown eyes, and Yuuri holds him. 

His valet enters, presumably to get him ready for the day, when he takes in the sight. “Master Yuuri,” he says. “Are you ill?” 

Yuuri nods. “Yes, I think I may have caught with something. Please inform Minako-sensei that I will not be coming down for my tutoring today.”

“Of course sir,” he says with a bow. “I’ll have the cook prepare a light breakfast for you.”

The thought of food isn’t outright sickening, but Yuuri doesn’t feel one iota of hunger. He manages a weak smile. “Thank you.”

He’s left to his own devices, and after about twenty minutes a knock sounds on his door. Yuuri pretends to sleep, though he opens one eye a sliver. It enables him to recognize the color of the dress as one of Minako’s favorites, and she looks at him for a while before closing the door as silently as she can manage.

Yuuri sits up and shakes his head a few times. His hair is still a bit cool and damp, and he thinks he should have toweled it dry before lying down. Vicchan stirs and licks his hands. He pets the soft curls covering his ears as a maid brings him a polished tray of brown sugar porridge and a tamago. It’s bland enough for a person suffering from a vague illness, and Yuuri manages half before he pushes it away in disgust.

It’s not a physical problem, he thinks. It’s the pangs of a broken heart. Maybe if he feels better, he’ll sneak to the roses again and try to explain, to work things out between him and his mystery man. 

It is not to be. Fatigue and chills hit him too hard mid-afternoon, and he sleeps with a high fever for over twenty-four hours until it finally breaks thanks to some cloths soaked in alcohol and ice. Round-the-clock care by the town doctor who is his childhood friend eases his suffering as well.

Yuuri is confined to bed rest when a loud knock sounds on his door. “Come in,” he croaks.

One of his favorite faces rounds the door’s edge—the twinkling steel-colored eyes and bright smile of Cousin Phichit. He’s dressed smartly for travel in tweed and a cap, and he bounds towards him. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri manages to prop himself up against the headboard. “Hello, Phichit.”

Phichit gets close enough to take in Yuuri’s features—his skin is pale and clammy with thick bruising under his eyes. He’s lost weight due to lack of appetite and the sweating from his fever. “Wow, Yuuri. They told me you are ill, but this—-“

“It’s probably influenza,” Yuuri says. “I got caught in a cold rain while riding the other morning. I fell ill later that day. I simply need time to regain my strength.”

Phichit sits on his bed close enough to touch if he so desires. He smiles. “Well, that’s good. How about when I finish my tutoring I come here and talk every day until you’re well? It’s been so long, and I fear much has happened I have not been able to communicate well enough in our letters!”

Yuuri smiles. “I’d like that.”

“Great!” Phichit reaches out and embraces him. It’s light and careful, Yuuri holding him as best as he can manage on such minimal energy. “I’ll let you rest, Cousin, but I will return after supper.”

“Thank you, Phichit,” Yuuri says. “It should only be a few days.”

Phichit pets his sweaty hair. “Of course!” He leaves, giving Yuuri one last grin before his departure. 

Yuuri snuggles back down under his sheets. He closes his eyes and dozes, his dreams troubled by a revelry full of flames and a maniacal queen clothed in the night air itself. He tosses and turns, his sleep not restful, but he doesn’t wake until Phichit’s evening arrival.

He forgets the nightmare when his eyes open.

_———_

The sickness does not let up, but rather worsens in frustrating ways. 

Yuuri is weak all the time now, so much so that when he attempts to return to dancing, the slightest pace above a slow crawl leaves him winded and drenched with perspiration. He sways a few times, Minako and Phichit rushing to help him before he faints.

He tries to eat to regain his stamina, but beginning a fortnight after his fever he can scarcely keep anything down. The smell of meat causes him to flee to the toilet, as well as certain dark-colored vegetables and drinks. Weak tea he can manage, as well as bland kasha and porridge. His mother has the porridge made with a bone broth, and that not only stays down but helps him feel a bit stronger. 

Headaches are a constant bane, sharp stabs through his vision when he is in a room with too much light. Katsuki Hall’s curtains stay permanently drawn now, and Yuuri avoids the observatory outright from self-preservation.

The servants are under a directive to keep him confined to his room when he isn’t learning under Minako-sensei, and his mother’s face is a mask of stern fear as she visits him every night, bringing his supper to him. She tells him stories from her youth while he manages half the bowl, two-thirds if it’s a good day, and she sips her own tea as he listens to her tales. 

Yuuri persists like this for over a month before the doctor comes again from town. Nishigori Takeshi partners with his wife as his nurse. Yuuko’s hands are gentle and firm as Takeshi draws some blood to test for any more serious ailments such as cancer.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Takeshi says with a smile. “But we need to be sure.”

Yuuri nods as Yuuko tapes a piece of gauze to his arm. She smiles at him. “It’ll be alright, Yuuri,” she says with a cheery voice. “We’ll get to the bottom of this and get you well! You’ll see!”

He’s too tired from lack of real food and difficulties sleeping to do anything more but give a small smile and nod. They both hug him and take their leave. The testing will take a few days, and Yuuri doesn’t feel any better so he continues as he has. 

His stomach begins to calm, and he is able to add a little food he was resistant to before. Not much meat—really only herring—and he reintroduces certain root vegetables and some rampion. He begins to regain some strength, though not enough to abate his headaches or occasional vertigo. Sometimes he overestimates himself, and he ends up as sick as he was before. Phichit usually helps him—if not then Minako—with strokes of the hair from his eyes, soothing words and cool, wet cloths on his neck. 

He can’t recall the last time he got fully dressed or ate at the table. He can’t recall not sleeping most of his life away. He can’t recall the last time the sight of a red flower didn’t make him fight back tears, his heart a gaping wound until the images fade. He’d go back like he wishes but—he can’ tolerate the ride. He certainly won’t make it should he walk.

He manages to sit by the window with Vicchan, his jacket draped across his lap like a makeshift quilt. He struggles with temperature now, either freezing or sweltering with no in between. Actual quilts are too heavy, but he shivered with only the clothes on his back. 

Phichit paces around the room in scarlet and gold, and his words come a mile a minute. Yuuri hears none of them. “And then at the ball, dear Guang-Hong asked our Leo—Yuuri?”

“Mm,” Yuuri says, his eyes focusing only on the woods hiding the roses from view.

“Yuuri,” Phichit tries again, concern filling his voice. “Yuuri, are you okay?”

The fog lifts. “Oh,” Yuuri says. “Apologies, Phichit. Something about Guang-Hong, was it?”

Phichit sits opposite him. “Yuuri, what’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself the whole time I’ve been here. You rarely smile, you don’t laugh—I’ve seen you during an illness in the past, and you were in much higher spirits. What’s wrong?”

Yuuri sighs and wipes down his glasses on the jacket, noticing it’s the one he wore during the first encounter with his mysterious stranger. The flower lies in the buttonhole, still as red and enchanting as it was that first day as if it is frozen in time. Yuuri’s hands shake and before he can stop them, two hot tears drip onto the petals.

“Yuuri—-“ Phichit whispers. He opens his arms as Yuuri falls into his embrace with noises that combine hiccups and sobs. He buries his face into his cousin’s shoulder and cries for what must be four days. Phichit strokes his hair, massages his spine, and sings in a gentle voice of happy dreams and peaceful children. 

When Yuuri regains most of his composure, he chokes out a more civilized explanation. “I love him,” he manages, as if it explains everything. As if Phichit will know who he means, that Phichit will understand the whole world from those three words.

“Who?” Phichit asks. He doesn’t let go. Bless him, he doesn’t let go, and Yuuri knows he never would, he never will so long as they both draw breath.

“I’ll sound insane,” Yuuri says.

“Try me,” Phichit replies with a smile.

Yuuri pulls back and Phichit dries his face gently with a soft cream and gold handkerchief. He lets Yuuri gather his thoughts. 

Yuuri goes back to the start with the impending forced mundane life, his suffocated feelings, the escape on Eros’s saddle, and Vicchan leading him to the field. He tells Phichit of a man with such inhuman beauty he was charmed instantly and spent two nights alone with him in carnal bliss. He tells Phichit of the note casting him aside, of the rainstorm, of the fever and the bout with the flu he seems unable to shake. 

Phichit knows the rest, and Yuuri’s throat is strained from the tale. He swallows, and though Phichit’s face is inscrutable, he gets up without complaint to bring Yuuri a cup of water infused with oranges and limes brought with him from his voyage. Yuuri drinks half the water, though it’s too much and he almost spits it back up.

“Yuuri,” Phichit says. He hesitates. “Are you sure it’s love? And it’s not a trick of your first time with…that?”

“No,” Yuuri admits. “It can’t be anything else, though. No one’s ever done this to me, Phichit. My heart…I’m aching because of the way we left things. I want to go back and tell him we can work it out. He’s all I want.”

Phichit nods. “Well. I believe you. I know you well enough, I can tell by the light in your eyes.” 

Yuuri nods. He knows he must look awful, like some kind of pathetic, starving waif. He wishes to become stronger, less pitiful and more of a brave man who will fight for the heart of his lover. 

A knock sounds on his door. It opens to Nishigori Yuuko and Minako-sensei. Yuuko looks more than a little shocked, hung up somewhere between outright bewilderment and palpable distress. Minako’s own face is pale and wan, like she may beat Yuuri to an emesis basin today.

“Yuuri—“ Yuuko begins. She pulls up his desk chair to the window seat. Minako stands behind her wringing her hands. “Yuuri…I’m here because my husband didn’t quite understand how to explain this. He thought I might do better by myself.”

Yuuri feels the drain of blood from his face, he feels the sweat form on his palms. “What is it?”

Wiping her palms on her white apron, Yuuko takes his hands in hers. Phichit sits next to him with their shoulders touching. Minako purses her lips and won’t meet his eyes—she’s already been informed, Yuuri realizes. 

“Yuuri—“ Yuuko halts her words. “Alright. Hm. Well…have you…I—“ She swallows. “I am honestly not sure how to approach this, so I suppose I should just say it. I will preface though that my husband has never seen such a thing in his career or schooling, and in fact had to consult his longtime mentor about the test results as it isn’t anything he’s ever seen. In fact, it should be impossible because you aren’t a woman.”

Minako jerks, staring down at her with her eyes wide with horror and her mouth gaping open. Perhaps she had not been told after all, Yuuri notes drily. 

Yuuko’s words catch up to him.

“Why does my sex matter?” Yuuri asks, though something about his illness nags at the darkest corner of his thoughts. They add up to a long-term condition women suffer typically not long into a new marriage, but he is not a woman nor is he——

 _“You do not know the extent of what I’ve caused, what I’ve done—“ the beautiful stranger told him, trailing off. “You must go. You must forget this happened, and you must forsake me.”_ His lover’s otherworldly comeliness, and those words echoing in his memory like they happened only an hour prior… 

“I’m pregnant,” Yuuri says in a flat tone as the full understanding of his condition crystallizes to him.

Phichit makes a strangled gasp, clapping a hand over his mouth with eyes wide from shock. Minako stares at Yuuko in unrelenting disbelief. “Surely there’s some kind of…mistake,” she says, her voice numb like she’s been out in the cold for too long without her fox muffler.

“Takeshi ran the test a dozen times,” Yuuko elaborates. “He thought it was an error, perhaps a contaminant in the centrifuge until he had completed half of them with the same result. He did another six out of, I suspect, disbelief.” 

Her reddish-brown eyes are kind as she meets Yuuri’s gaze. Her fingers, soft and rough at once from her work stroke across the bridge of his knuckles. 

“Yuuri, it’s true. You’re having a baby.”


	2. Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri meets Lord Feltsman and his ward, Mila, an arrangement is brokered between families, and he gets answers about his mystery man. 
> 
> Samhain approaches, and with it, a twist to everyone's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I did not abandon this, but I realized I accidentally took so long to start it up again that...well may as well wait until the actual holiday the fic uses LOL. Please accept my apology and have the fact that this entire fic is now complete as a small token of my esteem.

Yuuri withdraws more than before, though now it is due to the necessity of hiding the truth. He cannot conjure a reasonable explanation for his medical condition, the Nishigoris and Minako agreeing the delicacy of his constitution is too severe for any kind of row with his family. The pain and fragility of his heart is what truly ruins him. He spends his days keeping up with his lessons as best he can, and his nights are spent under fur blankets in the observatory watching the stars and the moon filter through clouds, waxing and waning as the days go by.

Autumn begins to settle, the leaves becoming the colors of high flames: burnt siennas, deep golds, and vibrant scarlets. His thoughts often turn to fire these days, perhaps due to a chill he cannot shake no matter how he tries. His skin is sallow and dry, his eyes dull as though he grieves. Yuuri does the bare minimum of hygiene and keeping up appearances, but the deep concern in his mother’s gaze tells him she is slowly catching on to his issues. 

Phichit sits with him under the glass and constellations, the two in moody silence with cups of hot bergamot tea and strawberry biscuits. Phichit gives Yuuri a long look before taking a long sip. “Won’t you reconsider Yuuko’s suggestion?” he asks after a prolonged beat.

Yuuri doesn’t need clarification, his hand protectively covering his stomach of its own volition. “No.”

“Yuuri, your situation—“ Phichit stops, his eyes turning away. “You do not need a lecture. I’m sorry.”

“The child is all I have of him,” Yuuri answers. It’s far too soon for him to feel any movement or even to have much of a swell to his stomach, but the child is a heavy presence nonetheless. “I won’t, Phichit. I can’t.”

Phichit nods. “I know, Yuuri.”

Yuuri dips his biscuit in the tea, softening it before taking a large bite. He looks at the sky, at how with no lights surrounding them in the countryside the darkness glitters and gleams with pinpricks of far, far away light. The stars may even be dead, Yuuri realizes, depending on their distance and the amount of time necessary for the light to reach Earth. 

That man is a hole in Yuuri’s heart, a phantom that holds him in his dreams and kisses him with such ardor his spirit soars. He’s a revelation in a field of red, a magician’s spell bringing color to Yuuri’s vision in the dark.

He also disappeared in plain sight, casting him aside like so much detritus. 

Yuuri has gained in physical strength, enough that having Eros stick to a slow gait may enable him to steal time to the flower field. Determined resolve and anger fill him for the first time; he’s owed answers at the very least.

Whether he gains his mystery lover’s heart in the process is up for grabs.

_——-_

Yuuri and Phichit descend for breakfast to a flurry of blurred activity. The servants flit to and fro, whispering about how everything must be just so. The guest house is being made up but for who Yuuri could not say. 

“What’s happening?” Phichit asks.

“Lord Toshiya returns this afternoon with Lord Feltsman and his ward,” a maid explains as she carries fresh linen out the door. “They are to have a very important meeting with Master Yuuri.”

Yuuri adjusts his glasses. “Pertaining to what, exactly?”

“Your father didn’t specify,” says Minako as she arrives behind him. She puts a hand on his shoulder, though it is the opposite of comforting for once. “It is very important that you be formally attired and look your best. He’s requested a full spit and polish, Yuuri.”

Yuuri sighs, and Phichit gives them both a questioning look. “Is Lord Feltsman’s ward a lady?”

“The Lady Mila, yes,” Minako replies as she heads elsewhere.

Yuuri gives Phichit an odd look. “Why does that matter?”

Phichit leans close, dropping his voice down to a register only Yuuri can hear. “He’s brokering your betrothal, cousin.”

Yuuri rubs his hand down his face. The impulse to use coarse language fills him so strongly he almost fails to quell it. “He cannot, not right now,” Yuuri says.

“I would say he disagrees,” Phichit answers with a sad shrug.

Before Yuuri can attempt even a token protest, he’s whisked upstairs by his valet and given, as Minako put it, the “spit and polish.” A hot bath followed by a shave with a hot towel, and new vestments of a deep indigo and royal violet with intricate yet subtle embroidery and embellishments. His hair has grown long and almost touching his jacket collar, but he can’t bring himself to ask for a trim. 

Perhaps if he is as unpleasant as possible, Feltsman will reject the match out of hand. Yuuri considers such manipulation for only a moment before he realizes how disappointed his parents would be. He cannot bring himself to humiliate them or tarnish the good Katsuki name.

Or rather, not more than he has.

Yuuri awaits the summons like a convict his execution, Phichit holding his hands when he picks at the iridescent threads in his suit once too often. They wait in the drawing room, Phichit in a similar outfit to Yuuri’s of red and gold. 

The door opens, and Yuuri and Phichit both stand. His father walks in first with good cheer and twinkling eyes in gray and blue followed by an austere man with gray hair that has mostly fallen out and a deep, abiding frown. He wears finery in deep brown and a shade of green like summer grass, nodding in response to Yuuri’s father.

Behind them both is a girl of similar age to Yuuri and Phichit with hair the color of winter embers in an elaborate style. She has blue eyes, though not like his love’s—they are akin to a placid riverbed during Spring. Her gown is the hue of a sapphire with pristine clarity, her gloves kidskin the shade of robin's eggs. Her complexion has been dusted with pearl powder while her lips have the barest hint of color from carmine. 

Yuuri bows his head to her—she’s quite lovely, all told, but she moves him not an inch.

“Yuuri,” his father says with joy. “I present to you, Lord Yakov Feltsman and his ward, the Lady Mila Babicheva.”

Yuuri shakes Lord Feltsman’s hand. “Sir, I thank you for your presence today.” He turns to Mila, bowing as she curtseys. “Lady Mila.”

“Lord Yuuri,” she replies with a soft, hesitant smile.

“This is our cousin, Lord Phichit Chulanont,” his father continues. Phichit repeats the same greetings. Father gestures to a group of chairs and a couch by the fire. A decanter has been set out of fine brandy, and together they engage in the banal smalltalk Yuuri often finds tiresome. Phichit has a grand time discussing matters of politics and social news with the elder gentlemen, while Yuuri stares into his brandy and Mila drinks hers too quickly, then refills it one too many times.

“Yuuri—“ Father suddenly calls, causing Yuuri to jerk towards the sound with wide eyes. “Why don’t you show Lady Mila the grounds? It’s not too cold for a stroll by the autumn flower beds.”

Yuuri and Lady Mila give each other wan smiles. “Of course, Father.” They stand, the heavy satin of her skirts rustling as Yuuri takes her elbow with the barest touch. They exit the grand back door of Katsuki Hall, walking slowly down a cobblestone path towards the aforementioned gardens. 

The beds are crimson from swathes of kochia, dotted white from spider lilies, and chrysanthemums in a variety of shades fill the rest of the space. Yuuri and Lady Mila walk in stilted, painful silence. “The groundskeeping is quite lovely,” she says after an excessive stretch of taciturnity.

“The seeds were brought from home,” Yuuri answers with a polite smile. “These are the autumnal beds—we have Spring and Summer ones as well.”

“Mm,” Lady Mila responds with a slight nod. She swallows, and in the sun, her hair shines like gossamer. 

How Yuuri wishes his life could be so simple that he could stomach spending it with her.

“Lord Yuuri—“ she begins after a moment. “I do not wish to offend when I say what I am about to, but…to be honest, I must admit I find the possibility of our engagement distasteful.”

Yuuri stumbles over a loose stone, Mila catching him with surprising strength. His eyes are wide with unveiled surprise. “I—what?”

Mila helps him stand straight, dusting off his sleeves. She gives him a sad smile. “I’ve my heart set on another,” she begins after looking over her shoulder to ensure there are no spies. “I’d much rather marry them than this. I understand he has no choice as the original heir disappeared many years ago, but my Uncle Yakov is putting me in an impossible place to preserve continuity of the line. It is a future I would greatly prefer to avoid.”

Yuuri takes a breath, the first easy one since he was apprised of his father’s arrival. “Please do not take this the wrong way but I as well have someone who has captured my heart. You seem very kind, but—“ 

“I understand,” she replies with a cheeky smile. 

Yuuri’s expression is somewhat awkward, but he also wears a smile. 

Mila laughs---it is musical and loud, breaking the tranquility. “Imagine if we ran away. What a scandal! Everyone would assume impropriety but more likely we’d go our separate ways and never speak again!”

Yuuri manages a chuckle. “I’m afraid my family would never believe it. I don’t often do things that defy expectation.” That they are aware of, he thinks.

“More’s the pity,” Mila says. She offers her arm and he takes it like she’s a childhood friend. They stroll around the grounds for a while longer, Mila giving him a sympathetic smile. “Is your lady lovely?”

Yuuri thinks of silken silver strands draped over his bare back and clear eyes like the summer sea. “The loveliest I’ve seen.”

Mila smiles. “Mine too.” 

They lapse into silence as they reverse course to the main house. Mila’s expression dims as their distance lessens, Yuuri certain his face gains in solemnity as well. “There must be some way around this,” Yuuri says out loud.

“If there is, I have not found it,” Mila replies.

As they approach the large double-doors leading into the home, Phichit greets them with a strained smile. “You’ve returned in time to prepare for dinner,” he says. On Yuuri’s free side, he leans close and continues with, “They’re definitely trying to get you both to the altar.”

The noise from deep in Mila’s throat is unhappy, Yuuri’s sigh doubly so. Phichit gives Mila a confused look around. “She would prefer not to as well,” Yuuri explains in a whisper.

Phichit winces before smiling with sympathy and grace. Mila smiles back in gratitude. “Well.” Mila is shown to her room in order to prepare for dinner, giving Yuuri and Phichit a look that’s between a grimace and a smile. They watch her go, and when the servants are out of earshot, Phichit continues. “We’ll just have to find a way to halt the nuptials.”

_——-_

Dinner is fine. Nothing scintillating as the talk sticks to the subjects of politics and business as always among which is discussion of the royal family’s plans for a birthday festival that will span weeks in the Capitol. The food is delicious, though Yuuri only eats enough to prevent suspicion. 

Mila pushes her food around her plate but barely consumes even one bite.

Phichit is a distraction worthy of a clandestine operation, the life of the conversation enough that no one notices the dour clouds hanging over Yuuri and Mila’s heads. Lord Feltsman is gruff but kind enough, and Yuuri tries to find a time to make his escape.

“Lady Mila,” Yuuri’s mother begins when the dessert plates are cleared. “I’ve been told you have a lovely singing voice.”

Mila demurs, taking a sip of a sweet red wine. “Ah, I am a bit rusty, Lady Hiroko, as of late I’ve had to neglect some of my lessons due to prioritizing other matters.”

“I’m sure you’re simply being modest,” his mother says.

“Perhaps Mila can do a little concert for us in the drawing room,” Lord Feltsman pushes his ward with surprising gentleness.

Mila makes a hesitant expression, her pale cheeks darkening from a soft blush in the candlelight. “I couldn’t—“ 

“Oh please!” Mother implores with sparkling eyes.

Mila looks at Yuuri and then bows her head. “It would be my genuine pleasure, Lady Katsuki.”

Yuuri clears his throat. “I think I shall retire,” he says as he stands. “I do apologize Lady Mila, Lord Feltsman, but I have been having recurring headaches these last few weeks and I fear one is coming on rather abruptly—“

“Then best to get an early rest,” his father replies with an understanding smile. “Cousin Phichit, will you help him upstairs?”

“Of course, cousin,” Phichit answers. He steers Yuuri through the house to the backstairs. 

“Go ahead,” Yuuri says. “Go watch her sing. I’ll be alright.”

“But your—“ Phichit drops his voice down. “ _Condition_.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says. “A glass of water and my bed cure a lot of ills. Please enjoy yourself.”

“Alright,” Phichit says with a hug goodnight. He heads back to the party with a faint sound of a beautiful, clear soprano soaring through the house. 

Yuuri stands for ten minutes hidden from view then heads to his horse. He steers Eros with a controlled walk instead of her more typical canter, bundled in black and gray like a highwayman absconding through the fog. Ahead of him on the trail he sees small flying lights like the fireflies in his ancestral homeland, though instead of gold they vary between white, pink, and red. 

The sea of roses. He must not have noticed this before due to his…distraction.

Yuuri halts Eros to dismount. He holds the cloak tighter—the air is so crisp, it is almost cold, and he can’t help the small shiver that wracks his body. Careful not to crush any roses under his boots, he wanders to the group of buds he picked his mother’s gift from. Yuuri kneels in the dirt, uncaring of soiling his new finery, and hand picks a bloom with no concern of its thorns.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” says that voice, the voice permeating his dreams and wandering thoughts like incense or a strong perfume. 

Yuuri faces his supernatural beauty. He elects not to speak and instead simply offers the rose with an arm outstretched. 

The man’s skin shimmers like quartz in the moonlight, his eyes with an inner glow like opals. “You—“ he stops. “I told you not to come.”

That spike of anger Yuuri felt returns with a vengeance. “You have no right to tell me what to do.” Like a child having a tantrum, he throws the rose at him. It misses, landing at his lover’s silver slippered feet. “You owe me, and it’s time I came to collect.”

The fae man narrows his eyes. “I owe you,” he says flatly. 

Yuuri steps into his personal space, grabbing his hand more roughly than he ought, and placing it on his stomach. “You _owe me_.”

The momentary irritation from Yuuri’s demands instantly vanishes into dismay and a humbled light in his gaze. “Yes,” he concedes after a fashion. “I should explain, I think.”

“At the least,” Yuuri prods. “Let’s go somewhere and—“

“I cannot,” he’s told. “I am bound to this place. I must remain here, except for on Samhain.”

“Why Samhain?” Yuuri wonders.

“It is all part of my tale,” he says. “Please, let us sit. I will give you the answers I possess.” 

They move to a clear patch of ground, Yuuri arranging his cloak around him like a cocoon. His man sits across from him, unbothered by the chill in the air or the darkness looming. There are sounds in the trees close by, Yuuri starting and looking towards them each time. They are akin to dark, saturnine whispers in strange tongues, and Yuuri searches with his limited vision to find their source.

“A long time ago—I am no longer certain of exactly how many years have passed,” his man begins. “I was traveling on a long distance errand for my mother and uncle—my father died when I was but an infant, and upon coming of age I was named the Lord of my household. I spent the summer having an audience with a political ally to secure trade for my townspeople.”

Yuuri nods and adjusts his glasses.

“I was due back home within a few days time but the weather made traversing my planned route nigh impossible, and my horse and I became lost on this trail.” He swallows. “I slipped and fell off her back while at a gallop, and I surely would have been crippled—if not killed—had _she_ not intervened.”

“She?” Yuuri asks.

“The Queen of Air and Darkness, a demoness named Lilia,” he explains. “She saved my life and as payment, I have spent my enchanted existence chained to this field to do her bidding. I exist in this place as an invisible watcher until a person should choose to take the roses.” He drops his eyes, his posture full of shame. “The toll I extract is quite steep—your innocence, nothing more or less.”

Yuuri grows sickened, though for once not from his pregnancy. His face forms a stilted expression caught between a grimace and a smile. “I see.”

“No one had ever come to this place,” he continues. “No one until you, that is.” 

Mildly better, Yuuri thinks but still a bitter pill to swallow. 

“I feared it would be possible for you to become with child, as that is also part of the magic I must endure,” he says. “I wasn’t certain until the second time we met. I could sense it, I suppose.” He meets Yuuri’s eyes again and to his credit, he looks deeply apologetic.

It does nothing to ease Yuuri’s aching heart.

“On Samhain, I am to ride with the Queen’s guard,” he says. “But—every seventh year she offers a tithe to Hell, and I suppose I have outlived my usefulness for I am to be sacrificed as tribute.”

“What? No!” Yuuri cries before he can stop himself. His love may not be returned, but he cannot push it aside for this.

“Yes, sweet one,” he says. “I am truly sorry, and please understand I have no desire for death…but my fate is sealed. There is nothing to be done.”

“No,” Yuuri says. “No, I won’t accept this. Surely there must be something, there must be another way—“

“The only way that involves the bravery of one bound to me by true and abiding love,” he says. “Though I fear no such person exists; at least, not with any reciprocity.”

Yuuri furrows his brow. “What does that mean?”

The not-quite-faerie offers a sad smile. “I would give anything to be mortal and court you properly, sweet one. Perhaps in my next life we can meet again and things will be as they should.”

Yuuri is powerless to take any course but stare in response.

“I know you gave in because of the Queen’s enchantments surrounding me—her magic has transformed me into a seducer impossible to resist—and I understand they likely compel you to return, but I so desperately want to keep you safe I told you to stay away.” He swallows. “It is the opposite of how I long for it to be but the closer to me you draw, the greater a risk you undertake.”

Yuuri’s heart soars like snow-feathered cranes across a quiet, dawning sun, his heartbeat in his ears like the echoes of dozens of wings flapping in unison as they take flight. He’s deafened by his joy and his relief in one fell swoop. “You love me.” The words spill with wonderment, his cheeks dusted pale rose and his eyes glimmering with joyous tears.

“So much so I would find any method of which to correct my fate,” he replies. “Though had it not been what it is, I’d have never met you. It is a mercy for which I have gratitude and not a small one. Though my time runs short, I cherish the moments I’ve had with you.”

Yuuri is not brave. No one who knows him would assert this—not even Phichit. Yuuri is capable of bravery, that much he is sure in this moment. He has never had stakes that loomed so high above him, but they are not insurmountable for there is no greater love than his. “What do I have to do?” Yuuri asks.

“I do not—“

“On Samhain,” Yuuri clarifies. “When you ride with the knights and their Queen. What actions must I take?”

The blue in his eyes ignites akin to a burning flame too hot to go near, let alone touch. Yuuri reaches out heedless of any danger, taking his hands and entwining their fingers. “I will ride on a horse that is the color of fresh, fallen snow, and I will be in a suit of gray and silver as though I am encased in ice. When we ride past this field, the forces of Hell will drag me off my steed to their realm.”

Yuuri breathes as deeply as he can manage. “Is there truly nothing? Is there no other way?”

“If you gain hold of me—if you embrace me tight and don’t let go,” he continues. “Though I will warn the Queen will likely use a glamour to force you to release me. I will once again be transformed, but this time I will be a series of violent monsters and sweet one, you cannot let go no matter what I become.”

Yuuri’s forehead amasses beads of sweat, as do his palms. “I see.”

“Should you whether that trial, I will become a living flame that will burn itself out—when I do, all that shall remain is a lump of coal. You must thrust the coal into water, and I shall become human once more,” he finishes. “From there, we will have to run—the Queen will not be pleased, and we will have to find a place her eyes and ears cannot reach.”

Yuuri thinks of a seafaring vessel in a port city several days’ travel from Katsuki Hall. He can pay a (undoubtedly hefty) monetary price to gain safe passage from his home to Hasetsu and his sister. “I believe I have somewhere we can go.”

Yuuri looks towards the manor house, realizing he cannot send word to his family until they have already gone, but this is his love and the father of his child—he must preserve their welfare by whatever means necessary. Phichit is the one who recently traveled by sea; perhaps he knows a way, someone who can take them with unwavering discretion.

“I will do this,” Yuuri says with resolve. “I will come to you on Samhain, and I will save you. All of us, the three of us—I will make it right.”

The love, the relief—he looks more like a normal man with these emotions so plain on his face. He’s softer somehow, his smile looking more kind and less vampish. He lets go of Yuuri with one hand to stroke his face, the metal and gems of the rings he wears cool against his skin. “Sweet one…”

“Yuuri, please,” Yuuri implores.

“Yuuri,” he says. “Yuuuuuurrrriiiiiiiii.”

Yuuri smiles. “Now will you tell me yours?”

There is a gentle press of lips to his, different than the ardent and fierce kissing from before. This is grace, salvation, and yes, love. When they part, he smiles back. “You may call me Victor,” he answers.

Yuuri brushes some of the silver locks away from his eyes before leaning in to kiss him again.

_——-_

The dawn greets them far too soon for Yuuri’s preference, but he rides Eros back to the house before light finishes its return to the sky to avoid being questioned. They passed the night talking this time instead of venting their passions, Yuuri telling Victor of his life, Vicchan, Phichit, and the vague memories of an archipelago in a distant sea.

Victor looked most interested in Vicchan, lamenting his long-held desires for a dog. Yuuri makes sure when they flee to have Vicchan join them no matter what.

Yuuri sneaks to his bedroom and gets in his sleep clothes as if nothing’s untoward. He cuddles Vicchan close with a kiss to the tip of his cold, black nose, and he sleeps for the few hours he has until the breakfast summons. His valet assists him in washing and dressing, and Yuuri joins his family and the Feltsmans in the sunroom for pastries, tea, and stone fruit.

He spends the morning a little worse for the wear, but his days alternate between good, fair, and poor these days due to the life growing within him. Yuuko advised him too much exertion (physical or emotional) is detrimental (and would be were he a woman) but it is difficult not to be stressed with all he could lose.

It takes until after lunch to get Phichit alone. He slips him a quickly jotted note to meet in the library. Yuuri steals into it, leaving the door mostly shut as he examines a row of books in case someone happens by. He picks up a tome he has no interest in, making a display of thumbing through its illuminated manuscript.

The door swings open, a hinge creaking in a way it should not, and then Yuuri hears it shut most of the way again. “What is the issue?” Phichit asks.

Yuuri sets his book down. “I need a vessel, a seafaring one to take me to Hasetsu at dawn on All Souls’ Day.”

Phichit’s eyes widen, his eyebrows ascending into his hairline. He considers his response for several minutes. “Is this about…the father?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. “He is in danger, and if I do not take him beyond the Queen’s reach, he will perish.”

Phichit blinks. “Stop. Begin at the beginning. What Queen? What danger?”

Yuuri swallows and then explains. He watches Phichit’s facial expression, which is disbelieving through most of the tale. When he finishes, Yuuri lowers his gaze in supplication. “So as you can see, I have little alternative.”

“You have the alternative of not buying into some wild story,” Phichit points out, his tone dry like an unforgiving desert.

“ _Wild story_ as if I am somehow not with child when that should be biologically impossible,” Yuuri snaps.

Phichit holds up his hands. “Yuuri, please, I implore you to be rational. Running away with a virtual stranger because allegedly a demoness will have his head…you do understand why I find this difficult to comprehend?”

Yuuri does not calm his ire, but he does bite back a second scathing rejoinder. 

“I’m not saying I won’t help—“ Phichit elaborates. “But…consider what this will do to your family. Consider the pain your mother will endure by your disappearance with no explanation. You will surely break her heart, Yuuri. Please do give that a modicum of consideration.”

Yuuri has but does so again. He’s truly only known Katsuki Hall as home—Hasetsu is foreign in a way, likely due to the infrequent and short stays in the family castle. He can learn to love it, he can do anything with Victor by his side. “I understand,” Yuuri says. “But until I feel we are free from harm, I cannot risk her knowing. It may endanger my parents as well, and I will not allow any harm to come their way.”

Phichit is solemn when he nods. “Alright. I will see what I can do to ensure your safe passage. I ask simply that you write once in a while to assure me that you are in good health.”

Yuuri swallows and his eyes burn as though he has swum in salt water. “Of course.”

Phichit pulls him into a long, warm embrace. Yuuri closes his eyes and though Phichit is shorter, he buries his face in his shoulder while Phichit strokes his back. When they pull apart, Phichit smiles and ruffles Yuuri’s hair. “Now to get you passage to the shore—“

“I can help with that,” says a soft voice from the doorway.

Yuuri and Phichit whirl to see Mila in cream and burgundy with a hesitant expression. 

“Forgive me, I know I should not have snooped but…well, this determines my fate as well. While my guardian will assuredly arrange a marriage between myself and another…I think your escape may give me the time I need to argue the merits of my choice.” Mila offers a crooked smile. “I can arrange for a carriage in town to take you, your dog, and your beloved to the necessary port. None will be the wiser.”

Yuuri smiles at her. “Thank you, Mila. I pray that you get your heart’s wish as I have.”

Mila’s smile smooths out, warming the room with its glow. “Thank you.”

The three of them iron out the logistics until they are summoned for supper. The conversation between the younger diners is less stilted and cold this evening, as the pair with the most to lose have their burdens alleviated by Yuuri’s quest.

Yuuri excuses himself early again, heading to the stables with Vicchan to steal another eve with Victor. They ride at the slow pace yet again out of caution, one of Yuuri’s hands occasionally resting over his stomach as a means to keep the baby from jostling. It’s begun to swell, his pants having more difficulty when he fastens them. He will have to get new ones soon.

There are sounds in the woods this night—the alien tongues he heard before. Yuuri bids Eros to slow her gait as he peers into the woods with narrowed eyes. He sees a pale, human figure. “Who goes there?”

They come out of the darkness, clothed in shimmering cobwebs and white feathers. He is but a boy of fourteen at most with hair that matches Spring jonquils and eyes that glow green like bioluminescent algae. There are dark gray marks downs his face like a brand, and his skeletal fingers end in iridescent silver claws. “Stay away,” he whispers to Yuuri with venom. “Leave this place and do not come back, or you will perish with your lover on Samhain!”

Yuuri should be afraid. He is not; rather, he is irritated at being ordered about by some stranger, particularly with so much as stake. He decides to not dignify this changeling child with a response, turning his eyes back ahead to the trail. He urges Eros into a canter as they finish the trek to the roses. 

This time, Victor waits. He stands in the middle of the field with the enchanted blooms, turning to the sound of hooves as Yuuri draws near. Victor brightens, his eyes full of longing and joy, and Yuuri’s heart again takes wing at the sight of him.

Upon dismounting Victor embraces Yuuri, pressing his lips to his in a sweet kiss like wine, and Yuuri is drunk on his affections once more.

_——-_

Time passes with frightening speed, and Yuuri wakes up on the last day of the tenth Gregorian month with both anticipation and foreboding. It is the day he has dreaded and awaited with baited breath: Samhain.

Before he can leave his bed, Minako bursts into the room without fanfare or warning, throwing open his damask curtains with relish. “Get up, Yuuri,” she urges.

“Why?” he says with a groan, his hand covering his stomach. He snuck in before dawn as is his new custom, the night spent in quiet conversation and warm kisses with Victor. Yes, they also make love during their clandestine meetings but the discussions, the information he learns about him—he cherishes that far beyond the physical pleasure they share.

Minako sits on the bed near his knees. Vicchan jumps across him to her for affection. He receives it, Minako giving him fond scratches behind his ears. “Your father and Lord Felstman have come to terms,” she says. “The engagement is to be announced this week with the wedding set for New Year’s Day here at Katsuki Hall.”

Though he has yet to put on his spectacles, Yuuri stares in disbelief at her. His gaze is cold and empty, his stomach rending itself into knots. “And I suppose neither Lady Mila nor myself have any say in this.”

Minako frowns at the frustration in his words. “Yuuri,” she says before faltering, recognizing that nothing she can offer will be of any comfort. 

Yuuri would be enraged if not for the knowledge that this ends tonight. In this moment, he chooses to leave without Victor even if he fails…assuming, of course, the Dark Queen does not kill him as well. Better to perish than to live a life thrust upon him he has never wanted. His jaw stiffens. “Fine.”

“Yuuri—“ Minako tries, but for a second time she is at a loss. She reaches out and squeezes his hand with a sad smile. Yuuri looks away and pulls back from her grasp. His governess takes this for the hint it is, and she sighs and leaves. 

A valet sets out a new set of fine clothing for yuuri—the suit is all black in rich velvets and soft, thick wool. The blazer has embellishments like glittering quartz on its lapels, and a new pair of hand-cobbled leather boots accompany the ensemble. He will look quite good in it as dark colors suit him, but he’d as soon as burn the outfit than suffer wearing it.

In spite of his mother requesting his presence, Yuuri sullenly lies in bed until he has absolutely no recourse but to dress in his vestments to dine with his family and intended in-laws. He struggles through the meal, Mila matching him in both attire and despair-induced pallor. They look like a well-bred pair of ghosts consuming a rich beef course as well as a fine vodka Lord Feltsman brought to toast the familial merger.

Phichit periodically gives Yuuri a smile that to the others appears congratulatory; Yuuri can read in his eyes the sympathy as well as urgency. The night grows darker, and Yuuri checks a grandfather clock more than would be reasonable any other time. When his father announces more drinks in the study, Yuuri sees his chance. He seemingly follows the crowd but as they are all distracted, he turns and bolts as quietly as he can. He catches glimpse of Mila and Phichit watching him go, and he longs to say a proper farewell to the latter. 

Alas, he cannot and he tries to commit his face to memory as they likely will never occupy the same realm again, his stomach clenching with pain as a result.

Yuuri runs to the stables, mounting Eros with Vicchan at their heels. This once he takes a chance and pulls her into a full-speed gallop, as time is of the essence more than ever. His eyewear flies off his face, his hair pushed back by the force of their speed, but he cares not as he rushes headlong to his destiny. There’s a light on the trail ahead belonging a darkling caravan of eerie revelers. Yuuri brings Eros to a halt and ties her to a branch. “Shhh girl,” he says. “I need you to be calm.” He gives her four sugar cubes as a bribe that he snuck from the stable. Then he bends carefully to Vicchan. “Stay and be silent, please, my dear.”

Vicchan seems to understand. His brown eyes are resolute, his tail still and body stiff with an uncommon alertness.

There is chanting ahead, shouts and singing of a group in raucous celebration. Yuuri uses what stealth he possesses to stay mostly hidden, grateful for the first time in his life his hair is such a deep shade of black. He braces against a tree as the cacophonous parade comes within reach. 

A pair of steeds pass first—they are not mortal horses. They are fierce black equine beasts with leathery wings like the bats in a hollow near Yuuri’s home. Their eyes gleam with an unholy green fire, and the man commanding them in a matching ink-like chariot looks forward. He is tan with close cropped hair and blue eyes lighting the way like beacons. He sings of a King who will not be stopped while a woman stands at his side claret and ebony to match her elaborate hair, her lips painted a red like she’s consumed far too many overripe berries.

Next are a pair of riders, one with eyes as black as his hair, his face and vestments dipped in gold. Instead of a horse he rides a great bear who grumbles and makes almost-roars that have Yuuri reconsidering his plot. On the man’s back are a pair of shimmering wings that are fade from gilded to white like a seraph’s. Then there is the mystery boy, tonight not in white and silver but instead shocking red, pink, and black. His long hair is styled in a braided diadem. His eyes gleam like a cat’s in the darkness, his ride a large feline beast with dark-stockinged paws and far too predatory a gaze for Yuuri's liking.

A man swoops down on a horse-sized raven, his dark hair in an improbable stiff style, his eyes painted the same violet as his mouth, and his clothing shimmering purple, blue, green, and black like spilled oil on cobblestones. He opens his mouth, calling an instruction to a person behind him, and green smoke seeps out like steam from winter air. 

Behind him can only be the Queen: she is splendor incarnate, beautiful and horrific in equal, fascinating measure. Her hair is brown and to her ankles, braided through with metallic black chains and middle-parted. Her eyes gleam as carved from mutton-fat jade, her lips and nails the same shimmering void as her gown. A crown of ebony spikes and the literal stars themselves sit atop her head, and Yuuri's stomach cramps stronger than it did before.

A herd of inhuman knights follow her in her colors, but a rider in the middle sticks out, in white, silver, and a shade of pink not found in nature. Armor encases his body like frostbite and ice, crystalline and impenetrable to mere man's weapons. His hair is loose, cascading to his waist but most striking is his mood: all the others cheer, laugh, and sing. His head is bowed as if he is resigned to some horrible fate.

Victor, Yuuri realizes.

The wind whips, loud and frantic. The shadows come alive, dancing as though they are sentient instead of a pale imitator of what is real. They spread toward Victor, reaching up the horse with arms grabbing, outstretched and hungry—

Yuuri moves before he thinks, running faster than he ever has. Just as Victor is dragged and begins his painful descent, Yuuri reaches him and wraps him tight in the shelter of his embrace. “I’ve got you—“ Yuuri says as he tries to regain his breath. 

They make eye contact and then instead of Victor, Yuuri holds a snarling three-headed winged serpent that spits fire and hisses with a high-pitched fervor, destroying the cheer of the queen’s cavalcade. The shock is so great Yuuri almost lets go, but he remembers his vow and holds firm. The serpent writhes with a forked tongue lashing, and Yuuri holds it to his jack-rabbiting heart. After a time, he could not say how long, Yuuri feels its strength being to wane. It stills. 

There is more.

He changes, becoming a slimy, horned creature with six legs and a tail. The slick, wet texture makes him almost slide out of Yuuri’s grip. He resists and perseveres, redoubling his efforts to keep Victor close. As with the last transformation, Victor at first fights and spits before losing energy, the circle of Yuuri’s arms and strength of his love taming this second beast.

Yuuri does not know how much more of this he can bear, but he continues without wavering. His knees shake and tears fill his eyes, but he never contemplates surrender.

Victor shifts and alternately howls like a wolf and screams like a herd of children. He becomes a hairy, lupine beast with talons that shred the wool of Yuuri’s cloak. He thrashes, the decibels of his voice causing Yuuri’s ears to ring in pain, and he fights harder than both previous times combined. 

Yuuri does not release his grasp, burying his face in his chest with his eyes closed.

Victor’s energy fades, and he ignites into a column of fire. He burns high into the aether almost unbearably hot. Yuuri is drenched in his own perspiration, but he hangs on, begging any higher force who can heed his prayers that they will both make it through. The fire crackles and pops, Yuuri grips it closer, and then as it sparked, it snuffs itself out.

In his left hand, Yuuri now holds a lump of coal, the rock so dusky it absorbs the light of the Harvest moon. Yuuri stares before he realizes his task is not yet complete. He searches for water, even a puddle from the last rain shower, when he spots an old, decrepit well. 

Ignoring the Queen’s outraged shouting, he runs for it. When he impacts against its side, he drops the coal into its depths. He is sickened with worry until he hears a deep splash, his stomach filled with broken glass. He tastes blood in his spit and fearful tears slide down his cheeks. 

He waits.

The sky lightens to the gray of a dove's back, and Yuuri stands in place. Did he fail? Was their love not true? Was all of this for naught?

The aching in his gut grows more violent, but he does not fall or double-over. He stands as he weeps, and he waits.

Just as he cannot take anymore, a pale hand reaches over the lip of the well’s edge. Yuuri yelps, spurred into action as he grabs pulls the person out with all his remaining strength. The man is naked with short cropped silver hair, though there is a bit of long fringe over his half his face, and his eyes are a clear blue like the sea. He offers Yuuri a soft smile. “My sweet one,” he says with palpable relief and adoration.

“Victor!” Yuuri responds, and he holds him—his true body, so warm and _human_ —close. Yuuri cries, allowing the release of his fraught emotions from their ordeal. Victor strokes his back and hair until he regains his composure. 

When he does, they pull back to look at each other, and Victor wipes a tear from under Yuuri’s eye with a gentle finger. “I apologize if I disappoint you,” Victor says. 

Yuuri laughs, a sweet chuckle he seldom makes. “I prefer this, actually,” he answers. It is the truth.

Victor’s smile and eyes open to Yuuri further, and he wonders how he could have ever doubted that his love was returned. He undoes his cloak and hands it to Victor as to preserve his modesty, and Victor drapes it around his body as best he can given the difference in their height. Yuuri looks towards his home, so small and washed out in the distance with a distinct blur surrounding it as he lost his glasses, and he commits it to memory with a silent farewell.

He takes Victor’s hand, and as they turn to find Eros and Vicchan, the Queen blocks their egress. She is imperious and unamused, and Yuuri fears that they will shortly die at her hand. If he must perish, he is glad to do so while he entwines his fingers with Victor's.

“You bested me,” she begins after a moment. “You took a great risk in doing so—of inciting my wrath, of angering the forces of Hell themselves.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer. There is nothing to say, and Victor grips his hand more tightly as he, too, remains silent. 

A green light sparks in her gaze, her eyes briefly becoming solid onyx. “However, your triumph was fair. You may go and spend your lives together as you please—unless you cross me or my kind again. Then my mercy on this dawn will be but a faded, near-forgotten fantasy.”

Victor drops to one knee, Yuuri clumsily following suit with a keen awareness of the boon they have been granted. “Thank you, my Queen,” they say in tandem.

She does not answer but when Yuuri raises his eyes, she is gone along with her party aside from the blond boy with the braids. They make eye contact and the child gives a haughty-yet-satisfied nod before he vanishes in a vortex of silver mist and white feathers.

Victor helps Yuuri stand. He smiles at him in gratitude as his vision begins to swim, darkening around its edges. The pain in his abdomen is crippling, and Yuuri shouts as a result. He pitches forward into Victor’s arms, shivering and unable to stand with his own power.

It is the last thing he is aware of as darkness takes its hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the creatures Victor transforms into are from Slavic myth! This part of the original story is a take on the concept of Proteus, and I figured better to use more approrpiate creatures than the ones from the original ballad since this isn't set in Scotland. He first becomes an azhdaya, followed by a bukavac, and then finally a drekavats. 
> 
> The flowers in the Katsuki beds are all common to Japan as Yuuri states, and they are autumnal-blooming varities.


	3. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And what of Victor, Yuuri, and their child?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I somehow never said this, but the title of this story is from Seven Devils by Flo. Ceremonials on repeat was my writing mood music for this one.

There are soft, underwater sounds drifting in and out, and Yuuri cannot make sense of them. He wavers between sweltering and shivering from chills, his eyes leaden and refusing to open fully. At some point, he awakens. He has no comprehension of where he is or the time that has passed. He is in his bed, he realizes after observation. Vicchan’s tail begins to wag so quickly it blurs, and he yips with bright cheery eyes when he sees his person has awoken. 

“Oh good,” says a familiar woman nearby. Yuuri turns to see Yuuko Nishigori and her husband close. Takeshi’s sleeves are rolled above his elbows as he uses a stethoscope to listen to Yuuri’s heart and stomach. “The fever only broke an hour ago, but we still had concerns about your body’s state.”

“What happened?” Yuuri asks as she hands him a cold glass of water. He gulps it in seconds without stopping to breathe.

Takeshi clears his throat. “It was a near thing, but we managed to save the baby.” 

Yuuri protectively covers his stomach, his body freezing to the bone. “No.”

“Were you having any cramping or fever before your collapse?” Takeshi asks.

“Yes, but I thought it was nerves,” Yuuri admits. “I was under a great deal of stress.”

“Stress is bad for pregnancies in the best circumstances,” Takeshi continues. “Certainly it is detrimental for you. Try to have some common sense and avoid it from here, can you?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says with more than a little humility. He knows a scolding when he hears one.

“It is best for the duration that you rest as much as possible,” Takeshi continues. “I won’t confine you to bed for now, but I will change this should I find out about over-exertion or further strain.”

“I understand,” Yuuri says. “Is Victor nearby?”

Husband and wife exchange a look. “He sits in a chair outside your door and refuses to move an iota further. So yes, I should say so.”

Yuuri puts on his spare pair of spectacles. “May I see him?”

“Your father and Lord Feltsman will have your audience as well,” Takeshi says.

Yuuko gives Yuuri a soft, regretful smile. “We asked they not until you’ve gained more strength, but they will not wait another moment.”

Yuuri sighs as Yuuko props him up with extra down pillows. “Alright.”

Yuuko gives him a smile and a wink as she opens his door, Victor barreling inside as if he thought Yuuri needed a rescue of some kind. “Sweet one,” he says with relief as he sits by Yuuri’s knees. He takes Yuuri’s hand in both of his, massaging the back of it with tenderness. “Thank goodness.”

“I’m fine, Victor,” Yuuri says with the surety he can muster.

His father is next, more sedate as he adjusts his glasses, and Lord Feltsman is the final member of their audience. He looks gruff and baffled in turn, Yuuri’s father also having a bewilderedness to his posture and expression he’s not seen before. Lord Feltsman and his father look at each other before the latter clears his throat. “Perhaps,” he begins as he looks pointedly at Victor. “You can both explain what has happened. Doctor Nishigori has told us the…circumstances of your health, Yuuri, but I must confess it is difficult to understand.”

Yuuri wishes he could crawl under a rock and die, decomposing with his family unaware he has left the mortal realm. 

“I am afraid it is my doing, Lord Katsuki,” Victor begins. “I was besieged by misfortune, and your son became ensnared along with me.”

Victor recounts his story the way he did for Yuuri, and while he speaks Lord Feltsman’s expression changes from perplexed to recognition. “Victor? Is your family name Nikiforov by chance?”

“Yes,” Victor says with an embarrassed chuckle. “Perhaps I should have said that at the beginning.”

Lord Feltsman offers a small, relieved smile. “Vitya,” he says. “I should have realized immediately—you look not a day older than your portrait hanging in the library! Surely I know I have changed much since but…do you really not recognize me?”

Victor gives him a long look before his face fills with recognition. “Cousin Yakov!” He leaps up and embraces Lord Feltsman for a long time. “Cousin, oh it is so wonderful to know you still live, hale and whole!”

“You as well, though I scarcely believe your tale,” Lord Feltsman admits. “A demonic Queen, a tithe to Hell, a man cursed to seduce as a fee for a flower...” He rubs his chin. “On second thought...with all of the trouble you caused before you vanished, I think it sounds legitimate after all.”

Victor’s smile doesn’t waver, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Father sighs. “I do not know how to proceed, to be honest,” he addresses everyone. “We have arranged for Yuuri to marry Lady Mila, and here he is magicked with another man’s child. How do we make sense of this?”

The idea strikes Yuuri like a thunderbolt. “If Victor is the rightful first in line to his family name and title, and the point of my marrying Mila is to preserve our families…then the problem is easily solved by allowing Victor and I to wed, is it not?”

Victor looks at him with a bright smile, his lips forming a bow like that of a cupid. Lord Feltsman also looks pleased. Father throws his hands up in the air with a weird sound, but when he looks at Yuuri again, Yuuri notes the light in his eyes and posture. “Will this offend Lady Mila?” Father inquires.

“No!” cries a muffled voice from the hall followed by a smacking noise. “Ow.”

Victor and Lord Feltsman give dumbfounded looks to the closed door. Father gives Yuuri a withering look as Yuuri sighs. “Come in, Phichit.”

Phichit enters with the lack of shame so common in his demeanor with Mila and Minako at his side. Undoubtedly Minako struck him, Yuuri thinks given the satisfaction on her face. 

Lord Feltsman gives Mila a look. “Is this true?”

Mila nods. “Yes, Uncle. I did not wish to complain as you’ve always been so kind, but I have someone who brings me happiness in a way that wedding Yuuri would not. I simply did not know how to discuss it without seeming ungrateful.” She smiles. “I’m happy to watch Cousin Victor marry Yuuri in my place, especially as it is clear this match is better suited to them both.”

Father gives Yuuri a smile. “Your mother has already begun the preparations, so it would keep her in a cheerful humor should we continue as planned but with alterations for a second groom instead of a bride.”

Victor returns to Yuuri’s side, taking his head as before. “Sweet one, is this acceptable?”

“You said you would court me properly, did you not?” Yuuri responds with a teasing tone in his voice. 

“An easier task I will undoubtedly never complete,” Victor replies. He kisses Yuuri’s ring finger, the one on his right hand as is the proper custom of this country. 

A blush fills Yuuri’s features. “I suppose I accept.”

Though he tries to be careful, Victor’s joy gets away from him as he comes close to crushing Yuuri in a loving embrace. Yuuri hears his father and Lord Feltsman discussing further plans, as well as Phichit attempting to glean details about Mila's beloved. The woman’s name is Sara, but Yuuri does not catch anything further as he focuses on Victor’s face, the love in his gaze and the starshine in his smile.

It is a look Yuuri will see every day from then on until mortality separates them, though it is focused not only on himself but the baby boy he bears within a few months’ time. 

Their son wears sea glass eyes and hair of coal, growing tall and strong with a cheerful disposition that charms all he encounters. The story surrounding Sora’s conception and birth is seldom told outside of close relations and trustworthy family friends—it is instead referred to as a happy accident for all involved, perhaps even miraculous, and they explain no further.

**Author's Note:**

> Every fandom needs a good Tam Lin AU! *jazz hands, confetti*
> 
> If you have not heard of it or are unfamiliar, The Ballad of Tam Lin tells a story of a woman named Janet who has a fateful encounter one day on a walnk with a man named Tam. The meeting drastically alters the course of both of their destinies...but! There is a happy ending! [Here is the version of the ballad I've primarily worked from, FYI](http://tam-lin.org/versions/39A.html), in case you want to familiarize yourself. (Try not to speculate too obviously regarding spoilers in the comments please!)
> 
> Be gentle, it's my first Mpreg. If you're wondering, yes Yuuri is a cis-male which is why everyone basically loses their minds at the end of the last scene. He's not in for an easy time with it as a head's up, and I hope it's clear that it's the faerie magic thing at play that's the cause!
> 
> The title is a lyric from Florence + the Machine's "Seven Devils." Ceremonials is more or less the soundtrack of this fic if you want suggested mood reading.
> 
> I know in reality Russia only started celebrating Halloween as of 20 years ago, but that day is kind of pivotal to the actual ballad of Tam Lin and I didn't find anything I felt to be a good equivalent in my research. I did find Russian spirits equivalent to the Merry Gentry---Victor is a perelesnyk, which is a spirit of seduction if you're curious.
> 
> This is a special thank you to my friends who helped me with an incredibly difficult situation a month ago when my cat crossed the Rainbow Bridge---thank you very kindly, you all! I know it's not much, but it's what I can offer. And huge thank you to spookyfoot for the beta! <3
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/sink_or_swim) or [Tumblr](http:sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Also this is now a part of YOI Halloween Week for the Day 7 prompt of "free day/folklore."


End file.
